The Company You Have
by flying-cars
Summary: One night at the bar. One night at a ball. One night at the Ministry. Hermione and Draco discover that things aren't always so bad with the right company. Three-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**_Part One:_**

Hermione wasn't one for bars. She wasn't usually one for drinking alcohol, especially alone, and definitely not in public places. But this particular night seemed to be full of surprises.

The man who just slid into the seat beside her seemed awfully familiar. Maybe the heat was making Hermione a little uncomfortable, or maybe her subconscious had registered who it was before she did. Draco Malfoy.

But he didn't seem to recognise who he was sitting next to, for he ignored her and ordered a gin and tonic (pretentious prat). He gulped it down easily, Hermione watching him very obviously.

"Aren't you going to say hello?" Draco said at last. Hermione blushed; Draco still hadn't looked at her nor made any sign he was aware of her existence.  
"It's polite for the man to make the first move," Hermione sniffed in reply. This remark earned her a bitter grin and a flash of eye contact.  
"I'm not very polite, Granger," he said.  
Hermione couldn't stop herself from adding, "I'm very much aware, Malfoy."  
Draco nodded to himself as if this confirmed something. "So you do remember me."

Ah, that's what it was.

"You're not easy to forget," Hermione grumbled, turning her half empty margarita glass around on the table.  
"Tell me, is it my dashing good looks or my stunning personality?" Draco asked sarcastically.  
"Your modesty, to be sure," Hermione replied, crossing her legs over the knees. Draco slyly glanced down at her legs which had now been revealed. He looked away.

"So what brings you here?" Draco asked after a few minutes of people watching (and insulting, which Hermione occasionally joined in on).  
"I love this bar," Hermione bluffed. "I always come here. Lovely atmosphere."  
"I frequent this bar more often than you go outside," Draco snorted. "So don't say that you drink here often."

Hermione ordered a glass of vodka to buy herself some time to think. Did she really want to tell Draco the truth? Should she lie? Would he even care?

"I had a fallout with Harry and the Weasley's," Hermione had admitted hesitantly. "We were…"  
"I don't want to know," Draco interrupted immediately. Well, that answered all Hermione's questions. "That's your business. Right now, I'm here to get drunk."  
Hermione had held up her glass. "Cheers to that."

They clinked glasses and took large mouthfuls, placing their glasses down on the bar in sync. Smacking his lips in satisfaction, Draco leaned back in his stool comfortably. "How's the job?" he asked sincerely. Hermione balked.

"Um, what? I mean, it's going well, actually…"  
"Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, right?" Draco clarified. Hermione shook her head.  
"I've just been transferred to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she said. Draco's eyebrows raised into his hairline.  
"Are you an auror, then?"  
Hermione threw her head back and laughed. "Merlin, no. Improper use of magic, for now. What about you?"  
"It's kind of difficult to get a job when everyone knows you were a death eater," Draco murmured with a slight frown. "But, I managed to sneak my way into the Accidents and Catastrophes department."  
"Obliviator?" Hermione guessed. Draco nodded.  
"How'd you know?"  
"That department is always looking for people. Sometimes wands backfire and wizards lose their memories instead…" Hermione trailed off suggestively.

With a snort, Draco turned his whole body so he was precisely opposite Hermione. He had a smirk on his face. A little nervous at his sudden change in demeanour, Hermione hunched her shoulders a little.

"Let's play a game," Draco said. "Whoever can say the cruellest thing about someone in this bar, wins. The loser has to go and say that insult to the intended recipient. Understand?"

Hermione did. Draco, gesturing for her to start, was interested to see what she could come up with. Surely the Gryffindor queen would be too nice to say anything too atrocious…

"Monobrow," Hermione said, nodding to her right. A dark skinned man was fiddling with a cigarette nervously, his dark eyebrow drawing more attention than he probably liked. Draco chuckled.  
"Thunder thighs," he said. A woman a few feet away from them was by no means overweight, but even Hermione had to admit that all of her weight obviously went to her thighs.  
"Body odour."  
"Bad breath."  
"Unshaven."  
"Bad coloured dress with her skin colour."  
"Black regrowth. Stupid blonde."  
"Lice."

Draco pointed to a man with shoulder length hair sitting in the back corner of the room, surreptitiously scratching the back of his head. Hermione smacked Draco on the arm.

"Besides the fact that he's probably homeless, that man is obviously single and clearly hasn't showered in about a week. The poor guy doesn't have time to worry about pests in his hair when he has to try and live on the streets with no food!"

Draco ordered a shot of vodka. "Granger, that was quite a cruel assumption," he purred, leaning in close to her ear. Feeling bold, Hermione leaned in a little closer. "Try to top me," she challenged softly. A bitter grin graced Draco's face.

"There's a man in this room whose reputation precedes him. He's done some pretty dark things; lied to more people than he remember, threatened the helpless, taunted the weak. He's stolen and sinned, tortured and captured. The worst part is, at the beginning, _he liked it. _That's kind of sick, don't you think?" Draco asked rhetorically. He took yet another shot (how drunk was he, anyway?) while Hermione thought. She knew he was talking about himself – it didn't take a genius to work that out.

"But that was only the beginning. That's okay, because people change. I know a girl who broke too many school rules to be healthy. Nearly got people killed by a three-headed dog, led her two best friends towards a basilisk, almost killed herself of exhaustion from trying to do too much work… This girl has lied and sinned. She's been petty and manipulative, especially when it came to boys, and self-sacrificing – which is also kind of sick, isn't it?"

Embarrassed and somewhat enlightened, Hermione shrugged. Gathering her courage, she looked Draco in the eyes (which were slightly glazed over, making Hermione wonder if he'd listened to a word she said). "People make mistakes sometimes and that allows us to change, to improve, and all of that shit. Other times, it's best just to get wasted and forget about everything, right?"

With a half grin, Hermione lifted her empty glass. Draco clinked it in cheers.

"Now that we've broken the ice so much we've reached a new depth, shall I accept defeat and tell that homeless guy he's single and smells awful?" he teased. Smiling but ignoring him, Hermione made to stand.

"You're not an awful person all the time, Malfoy," Hermione said, hovering over her seat hesitantly. "You're actually quite interesting. So, thanks for distracting me from my own dilemmas."  
Draco tilted his head in recognition. "Sufficient company knows how to distract and entertain. 'Night, Granger."  
"Goodnight, Malfoy."


	2. Chapter 2

**_Part Two:_**

Hermione was, once again, at the bar by herself. Taking advantage of her respite, she had only had two shots before her usual drinking buddy slid into the seat next to her. Hermione looked curiously at Draco. He didn't look happy.

"I've been forced to ask a date to the ball my mother is holding," Draco grumbled, looking deeply into his glass of whiskey. "It starts at seven. Wanna come?" he asked half-heartedly.  
Hermione snorted. "Why would I go to a party where a whole gang of purebloods will be?"  
"Because they hate you and it'll be really amusing?" Draco offered. Hermione glared at him, making him slump even further in his chair. "It's not just gonna be purebloods, Granger. Everyone's gonna be there. _To encourage the integration of all the classes_," he said mockingly in a fair imitation of the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He gulped down the rest of his whiskey.  
"When is it?" Hermione asked, out of politeness more than actual curiosity.  
"Tomorrow night. Please come. It'll be nice to have someone to mock everyone with," Draco said hopefully. "At least I know you hate them as much as I."  
"Well, there's a fair point," Hermione allowed. Her tipsy state gave her an edge of confidence. "At least I know they hate you as much as I do."  
"Liar. But still, there's an open bar," Draco bribed with a glint in his eye. "That's where I'll be, if you decide to show."

He stood up to leave, throwing some money on the bench. "See you 'round, Granger."  
"Wait, Malfoy," Hermione suddenly remembered. "Where is the bloody ball, anyway?"  
"The manor, of course. You know where that is?" Malfoy smirked.  
With a frown, Hermione replied, "Only too well."

Deciding to head home herself, Hermione said goodbye to the bartender (a blonde haired girl who was generally very nice) and disapparated from her seat. Landing in her cold, empty flat, Hermione sighed and went to bed, not bothering to get out of her dress and heels.

Too exhausted to dream, Hermione woke up late the next day. The sun was shining bright through her bedroom window since she forgot to draw the blind closed the previous night. Sighing, Hermione decided that a quick shower and some food would wake her up nicely.

Then, a memory floated through her overworked brain.

_"I've been forced to ask a date to the ball my mother is holding… Wanna come?"_

Did she want to go? Occasionally, they would be each other's 'plus one' to certain events, should they be particularly awful or if they were desperate. Somehow, the event wasn't as boring with Malfoy there. It never failed to amuse Hermione the looks he received.

But this wasn't a ministry event – it was a _ball. _With an actual _purpose. _To encourage the integration of all the classes, Draco had said. Surely it wouldn't be that bad.

Hermione spent the entire day debating whether or not to go to Malfoy's stupid ball. But, if she didn't, she was just going to be moping about the house that night or go to the pub. Which, although not unusual for her, would be rather strange without Draco there to scare away any creepy men.

So, without further ado, Hermione tied back her hair into a simple ponytail and put on her black floor length dress. She apparated away to Malfoy Manor, landing in front of the intimidating iron gates, which were wide open. Walking up the long driveway, Hermione admired the white peacocks strutting above the dark hedges.

At the door, Draco was greeting the guests with a cynical sort of enthusiasm. "Ah, Granger! There you are!" he greeted when Hermione came into view. "Don't you look dark and pessimistic tonight!"

Hermione appraised Draco's suit. It was pearly white and stung her eyes to look at, when coupled with his blonde hair. "Malfoy. Don't you look… strangely bright tonight," Hermione returned the compliment, making him laugh. He ushered her through the door, resting his hand on her lower back.

"I'm so fucking relieved you showed," he was saying as he browsed the large room, obviously looking for someone. "Mother was trying to set me up with this red-head… honestly…"  
"Don't be so judgemental," Hermione said uselessly.  
"A tiger can't change his stripes, or whatever it is. Listen, tonight, I'm gonna tell people you're my date, alright?" Draco looked at Hermione pleadingly, she thought.  
"Perhaps I rather like seeing you suffer," Hermione replied. "It's interesting watching a thirty year old man be matched with a lady by his mother."

Draco scowled. "Come on. You showed up, didn't you? That's half the job done. I'll pay you for your efforts?" he bribed.  
"Fifty galleons," Hermione said immediately, her thoughts drifting to her rent due in a couple days, and that pair of sapphire earrings she saw in Diagon Alley. Draco's scowl deepened.  
"Done. Now, honestly, Granger. Did you even bother to dress up tonight?"  
Frowning, Hermione gestured to her dress. It was a silky, strapless black dress that cut off mid-thigh. "I put this on, didn't I? It's better than a skirt. And I'm wearing heels, give me credit for that."  
"I was referring to your makeup and hair."  
"Couldn't be bothered. I don't think I need makeup, anyway. And my hair has been worse." Hermione added sarcastically, "You just look dashing, did I mention?"  
"Several times now," Draco sniggered. "Oh, there's mother. Just play along, Granger."

Without time to reply, Hermione was suddenly smothered by wiry arms and expensive smelling perfume. "Draco, darling, is this your date? Isn't she beautiful!" Narcissa Malfoy crooned. Draco, with a sly grin, wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist but didn't attempt to pull her closer. "A natural beauty, she is," he agreed. Hermione winced but smiled nonetheless.  
"You look dashing tonight, Narcissa," Hermione said kindly, appraising the aqua blue robes Narcissa was wearing.  
"I think I brighten up this gloomy place," she said easily. "Everyone else here is wearing such dark colours. No offence to you, dear, but still… I should have specified on the invitations…"

With a smirk from Draco, he led her through a large doorway to another large room with a live orchestra. It was a ballroom.

"Dance with me," Draco ordered. Hermione laughed.  
"I'm not here to dance with you, Malfoy. I'm here to get drunk." Looking around for the bar but not finding it, Draco smirked.  
"I'll take you to the bar after you dance with me. Mother is watching very closely," he said casually, gesturing to his left. Narcissa was peeking around the doorway.

"Well, I can't very well let her down," Hermione said sincerely, placing her hand in Draco's. He held her close, but not intimately close, and swayed to the beat.

"She's too nice to be your mother," Hermione said after a moment of silence.  
"Maybe. She was too nice for Father, at any rate," Draco grumbled.  
Idiotically, Hermione began looking around the room. "Where is he, anyway? I thought he'd be here."  
"He died in Azkaban," Draco reminded Hermione. "Remember? About a year ago now."  
"Oh. I'm sorry."  
"I'm not. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Mother says."

Knowing that Draco didn't like to talk about many things – this topic being one of them – Hermione let it drop.

"The Weasley's and Potter's are here," Draco said quietly. Hermione jolted. "I just saw them in the next room."  
"I don't suppose the red-head your mother was trying to set you up with was Ginny?" Hermione guessed. Draco chuckled.  
"The Weasley's are not the only red-heads in town, Granger, contrary to popular belief."  
"Well, I didn't think you knew that!" Hermione teased.

The song ended and Draco pulled Hermione off the dance floor. "Where are we going?" Hermione asked. She vaguely wondered if Draco was taking her to see her 'friends'. She wasn't sure if she minded.  
"To the bar, as promised. We've missed happy hour, but still."  
"That's your fault for making me dance with you."  
"It's actually yours for showing up late."

Two rooms over was a relatively dark room with neon lights around the bar. Bottles and jugs and glasses of who knew what were organised in square shelves behind the bar; three people were moving about behind it. The room had black couches in the corners and metal tables and stools scattered over the wooden floor. In here, no orchestra music could be heard; it was replaced with muggle dubstep music which Hermione was well acquainted to.

Gesturing to the bartender for two shots, Draco sat himself between Hermione and a creepy looking old man who looked drunk already. A grateful smile was shot his way from Hermione. Their drinks skidded to a stop in front of them and together they threw their heads back, slamming the glasses on the bar with a sense of satisfaction. Refills were already being poured.

"So, what made you come?" Draco asked at last. He had been wondering ever since she showed up on the doorstep, but resisted from asking. Hermione shrugged.  
"Drinking alone is never as fun or annoying as drinking with you," she said sarcastically. Draco grinned proudly.  
"It is all about the company, Granger. I must say, the guy I saved you from doesn't smell too nicely," he said loudly, causing the man to his left shift uncomfortably.  
"The girl across the bar is eyeing you off," Hermione sniggered, not bothering to lower her voice. The blonde, who was indeed giving Draco suggestive glances, sent a dirty look Hermione's way. Draco ignored the girl, clearly uninterested… or unimpressed.  
"Let me see if I can show you the girl Mother was trying to get me interested in," Draco said and twisted in his seat. "I'm sure I saw her here a minute ago…"

Hermione ordered a firewhiskey, deciding the shots would get her too drunk too quickly, while Draco scanned the room.

"Potty and Weasel at five o'clock," Draco grumbled, turning back in his chair. He stole Hermione's glass and took a mouthful as she turned to look, making her turn back and give a sound of protest. When Draco placed the glass back on the table, holding his hands up in surrender with an innocent look on his face, it made her giggle.

"Hullo, Hermione," chorused Ron and Harry from her side. Turning in her seat, she sent them a polite smile.  
"Hi, guys. Long time no see."  
They shrugged awkwardly and, upon seeing Draco, kept walking.  
_"Why is she sitting with Malfoy?"_ Hermione heard Ron grunt to Harry. With a shrug, he replied with "_I guess they're friends. You never were good at accepting she has other friends besides us."  
"Bad friend choice."_

Hermione didn't get to hear what Harry said in return, but could only imagine it was witty and pointed out that for a very long time, they were her friends, and she often made good choices.

"Tension in the air," Draco sang. "Everywhere I look around!"

Hermione slapped him on the arm. "Shut up, Malfoy. This whole bloody ball is tense. No one is used to mingling and socialising with each other."  
Draco slung an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "It's all about the company," he repeated. "Personally, I think about ninety percent of the people here are pieces of shit."  
"Malfoy, I must ask… am I included in that ninety percent?" Hermione asked, pretending to be offended. Draco deliberated.  
"I suppose that you're excluded, but only _just_. More firewhiskey?"

Hermione noticed that, once again, without her noticing, Draco had drunk her drink. "Keep your grubby hands off my drink," Hermione scolded, but agreed to another nonetheless.

"How did we get here, Granger?" Draco asked, three firewhiskey's later. He was drunk, and Hermione was even further along, leaning into Draco's side. It wasn't unusual for her to do this. "Friendless, drinking away our sorrows with only each other for company. We used to be leaders."  
"I dunno," Hermione shrugged. "But I like it. It's a nice way to waste away my life, I think. After all," Hermione sent a sly grin up at Draco, "It's all about the company, isn't it?"


	3. Chapter 3

**_Part Three:_**

The ministry was warm and deserted as Hermione walked along the second floor. Holding her wand loosely in one hand and her briefcase in the other, Hermione was headed home for the night after a long and tiring day. If she kept this amount of effort up, she'd be head of her department by the end of the month – or dead.

Knowing Draco would be waiting in the lift for her, Hermione sighed. Every Wednesday he did this. Without fail. Honestly, it was like he didn't have anything else to do with his life.

Vaguely her mind registered that he didn't, and Draco was more often bored than not.

The metal clanking from the lift echoed loudly through the hall. The doors squeaked open and Hermione entered.

Draco wasn't there.

Almost sighing in relief, but not quite, Hermione closed her eyes. A nagging sense of doubt settled in the depths of her stomach. It wasn't like Draco to ditch his favourite routine.

Deciding to send a note to him once Hermione got home, she set aside the problem for later. Hermione walked through the Atrium, no longer pausing to admire the golden fountain, and headed for the fireplaces.

Hermione much preferred to use the Floo network to get home than apparating. It reminded her too much of… _then. _That awful time in her life when she was in hiding.

"Hermione?"

A familiar body was leaning against her usual fireplace. Of _course_ Draco knew which one she liked to use. Why did that surprise her?

"Draco, what's wrong?"

Hermione noticed it straight away. She knew all of Draco's body language – angry, drunk, hung over, frustrated, cheerful, and furious – but now? She'd never seen it before. His pale face, hunched over shoulders, hands in his pockets… Hermione wondered if she'd dare mention his red eyes.

"I've just come from St Mungo's," he said hollowly. "It's my mother. She died about an hour ago."

Sympathy ran through Hermione's blood. It washed over her like a tsunami. A hesitant step forward in Draco's direction and then suddenly, he was holding her. Not crushing her, or holding too tightly. In fact, Hermione was held rather loosely; almost as if he was too weak to hold any tighter. Or as if he was expecting her to pull away.

Hermione dropped her briefcase and wrapped her arms around Draco's neck. For a moment she let him bury his face in her hair and try to gather himself. His breathing was hitched and his shoulders shaking. "I'm so sorry, Draco," Hermione whispered.

"A stroke, would you believe it?" Draco croaked. "Such a _muggle_ way to die."  
"Human," Hermione corrected. This automatic reaction earned her a soft chuckle.  
"If you say so."

Pulling away, Hermione led him to the fountain and sat beside him, leaning into his shoulder. "When are they going through her will?" she asked. Draco sighed.  
"Next week. There's no need though; I'm her only heir. Everything will be going to me, I know it."  
"Well, all the girls will be chasing you now you're rich," Hermione joked half-heartedly. It was probably insensitive and really bad timing, but it made Draco laugh, and that made her pleased.  
"Everyone knows the guy always chases the girl, Hermione," he informed her with a wry smile. "Besides, who'd want an ex death eater?"  
"You can't hold onto that forever, Draco," Hermione whispered. "Do you need any help with the funeral?"

"Just show up. Please."

Hermione nodded her agreement and the pair sat in silence. Draco drew comfort from his best friend's presence – while the pain of his loss didn't go away, it lessened slightly knowing he wasn't alone.

Hermione silently made a vow that she would always be there for Draco, no matter what the circumstances.

Draco realised at the same time that he'd always need Hermione, either as a best friend, a plus one, a drinking buddy, or something else. He depended on her.

_Mother did always like Hermione, _Draco thought, making his heart wrench painfully. His mother was gone, and he would never hear her talk about his best friend in that loving, caring voice she rarely used, would never hear her footsteps in the Manor…

"Would it be wrong to ask you to move in with me for a while?" Draco asked suddenly. Hermione pulled away from him, looking more than a little surprised.  
"Into the Manor?" she asked incredulously. "With you?"  
"With who else?" Draco replied sarcastically. "It's going to be empty now with just me and the house elves. And you won't need to be there forever, just for a week, or until the funeral, or… you know. Whenever."

Draco trailed off nervously, not liking the lack of reaction from Hermione. Little did he know that the wheels were turning in her head.

Best friends lived together, didn't they? It wasn't weird. Although, Hermione had seen enough muggle movies and read enough books to know where their relationship would head. She wasn't a fool. But it was obvious that Draco hadn't given that a thought; his saddened state meant he was looking for support, and Hermione was touched he came to her.

"I'll move in with you," Hermione said at last. At Draco's joyful expression, she held up a finger to silence him, resulting in a scowl. "So long as I don't have to pay rent."  
Draco laughed at Hermione's ludicrousness. "Of course you don't have to pay bills. Merlin, what kind of friend do you think I am?"  
"A bad one," Hermione said immediately with a small smile on her face. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Tomorrow after work a good time then?" he asked casually. Hermione jolted.  
"What? So soon? Draco, I think our relationship is moving a little bit too fast, don't you think?" she teased. Draco shook his head, hiding his smile. On a whim, he brought Hermione to his chest and, as her arms wrapped around his frame, kissed the top of her head softly.

"Mother did always like you," he murmured into her hair. Hermione giggled.  
"To be honest, I think her judge of character was a little bad."  
"Good. I like bad people. They're more interesting."

The two opposites shared a smile before finally leaving the ministry, with springs in their steps and smiles on their faces. The pain of Draco's loss had momentarily disappeared while he and Hermione returned to their normal banter – her company was all he needed as a remedy to his problems.

Hermione moved in two days later. The will was read, the funeral passed, and Hermione stuck around. She enjoyed the luxury of no rent… among other things. A month later, she slept down the hall from Draco. Within the space of three months they slept in the same bed.

One night, marking the two year anniversary of Lucius' death, Draco looked up from his book to look at Hermione squarely in the eyes.  
"You know, I can't help but feel like our relationship is moving a little bit too fast," he said seriously. Hermione laughed and pecked him on the cheek.

"That's my line, Malfoy. Now go to sleep."  
"Yes, love. Goodnight Granger."  
"Goodnight Malfoy."

With a grin on his face, Draco pulled Hermione into his arms. _Yes_, he thought to himself. _Hermione's company is all I need. _


End file.
